


We must stay, ere break of day, to find out what happens in A Song of Ice and Fire!

by sycamoretree



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Angst and Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme (summarized): Bilbo brought a book on the journey he had gotten from a human scholar who's turned his hand to writing high fantasy. The Company notices the hobbit is reading a book most nights before going to sleep and one night asks him about it. Bilbo begins to read it for them and soon it becomes a tradition and the entire Company is hooked on the series. (Slightly alternated fill)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ser Ilyn, bring me...

The hobbit sat with his back against a log, knees drawn up, and face marred with pain and sorrow.

The dwarves were finishing setting up that night’s camp and Bofur kept an eye on their furry-footed companion as he stoked the fire below Bombur’s cauldron containing their supper. The hobbit had been more subdued and kept to himself since Gandalf left them.

Suddenly the hobbit’s chest began to heave with each breath and his whole body shuddered like a leaf in an autumn storm.

“No. No, no, no, please, no.”

Upon Bilbo’s anguished plea, Bofur’s bushy brows drew together and he left his duty to investigate.

“Alright, Mister Baggins?”

His question was caught by many dwarves around and they all looked up from their tasks and turned their gazes to the practically distraught creature. Bilbo nibbled on his lips as if trying to stifle sobs, and refused to meet Bofur’s eyes.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine, thank you. It’s just that, that…” Bilbo’s fragile voice trailed off and from the corner of his eye, Bofur spotted how even the leader of the company had stopped brushing grime from the ponies’ soaked flanks and was now listening in on the conversation.

Bofur sank to his haunches in front of the hobbit whose eyes were glued on his lap and the shivers and silently moving lips made it look like he suffered from a fever. Bofur was about to ask about that when a tortured cry tore from Bilbo’s throat and his face contorted into a mask of horror and grief before he let the head fall onto his knees, clearly crying now.

Every member of the startled group was suddenly rushing towards the hobbit to see what ailed him and Bofur reached out and grasped the soft, narrow set of shoulders, crunching red velvet in his hands.

“Oh, dear! Bilbo, what’s wrong?” Bofur gasped and then Bilbo lifted his head and his face was not a pretty sight to behold. Red-rimmed eyes, nose dribbling, tears travelling over the apples of his cheeks and mouth trembling.

“Ill n’…”

The quivering whisper was hard to hear and Bofur shook his head while keeping his sympathetic heart completely focused on Bilbo’s pitiful form.

“Are you ill? Ill and what, Bilbo?” Oin the healer was already scrambling through his satchel for medicine and Thorin leant one gloved hand against the log beside Bilbo, the other coming up to scratch at his black beard anxiously. Bilbo managed a small protest at the attention around him and that seemed to frustrate the exiled king.

“Speak, Master Baggins! What has you in this state?” Thorin barked and Bilbo jumped and turned his face up towards the leader while Bofur rubbed his shoulders comfortingly, deeply disapproving of Thorin’s outburst. Bilbo’s widened his eyes and he stared at Thorin before his lips began to move.

“Not ill. Ill n’, Ilyn. Ser Ilyn. The king ordered him to bring him… to bring him…”

Thorin looked enraged and close to catching Bilbo by the collar and haul him up to yell in his face, so Bofur discreetly shuffled closer to the hobbit so to unable that move.

“What king? Are you talking about me? What’s _Ilyn_? What is bringing what?” Thorin growled, hackled raised and Bilbo twitched as if going through a change and then he actually roared with a strong yet defeated voice, “King Joffrey just ordered Ser Ilyn to bring him Ned Stark’s head, you overgrown badger! Ned Stark is surrounded by enemies and he will die!”

Everyone in the company gasped, whether at Bilbo’s unexpected reaction, the insult thrown at their king, or the news of death the hobbit had announced. Dwalin seemed to not enjoy this situation one bit, and the warrior smoothly unsheathed his twin axes to be prepared if the hobbit was somehow foreseeing an ambush in the camp. Bofur was suddenly thrown off balance when the furry creature threw himself at him and made him land on his bum, arms full of crying and sniffling hobbit.

“He can’t! Joffrey can’t do this! Oh, Bofur; the woes and terrors are upon us.”

“Seize the talk of terrors, Halfling! You upset the whole company,” Balin was admonishing, obviously unsettled by the demoralizing behaviour. Meanwhile, Thorin caught glimpse of an item on the moss beside Bilbo’s hairy foot. He knelt down and snatched it up before Bilbo realized he had dropped something in his fit of despair.

“A book? What is written in this? Where does it come from?” Thorin asked sternly and browsed roughly through the heavy tome so the parchment rustled and the leather-bound cover groaned. Bilbo shifted on Bofur’s lap and now his eyes shone with a different kind of fear.

“Please, give it back, Thorin.”

Thorin scowled at the letters of the Common language and scanned the many names that appeared. “Castamere, Renly, Samwell, _Theon_! What in Durin’s name are you reading? Unknown legends of the Shire, or a spy report? Are these code names? Tell me, Bilbo, why do I find here these alternated names of the Gondorian ruler Castamir, of the common name Rennar in Laketown and Dale outside Erebor, of another common hobbit name, and of _my_ own person?"

Thorin’s eyes were dark with hostility and Bilbo quickly lowered his arms that were straining to take the book from Thorin’s hands.

“It’s not a spy book, I promise! The scribe who wrote it was only inspired by names from different parts of Middle-Earth, I suppose. Theon is a name on its own, and not a version of your name.”

Dori cautiosly stepped inside the smaller circle in the camp and uttered stiffly, “Exlain to us; which author in what place gave you this book?”

From his pocket Bilbo extracted Bofur’s rag that was substituting for a laced handkerchief and wiped his running nose as he picked himself up from Bofur’s lap.

“Galdor R R Mardil he is called, though it is not his real name. I met him in the Green Dragon Inn a fortnight before Gandalf and you lot came to my hobbit hole. A man with white beard and shape of a barrel. Apparently he had travelled to Eriador to sell his works. He is a scholar who also writes unreal stories that take place in another world and I got curious so I bought this. I forgot I had it in my library until that morning when you left without me. I packed quickly and thought to bring something lasting to read on the journey if I had time.”

Bilbo shuffled his feet and Thorin’s expression relaxed at time as he studied the hobbit who seemed honest. Bilbo continued with a steadier tone, “I admit I wasn’t prepared for how captivating the epic story would be. I now feel for the characters, feel their pain and joy, and long for each night when we have set camp and I have time to read a few more pages. But tonight something truly awful happened to the one decent man in the book and I fear reading further but at the same time not knowing is worse. I have to gather myself before continuing. I’m almost finished with the first tale in this thick book.”

Dori pursed his lips and glanced sideways at Nori who nodded solemnly, arms folded peacefully around his chest. The red-haired thief and trickster had seen no lie in Bilbo’s speech. Truly, in Dori’s mind, the hobbit’s story seemed far too elaborated to be part of a sinister spy report. It seemed like Thorin was thinking the same, but he nevertheless contemplated the cover carefully.

“Do I have your oath that neither this book nor you shall harm me, my kin, or my company?”

Bilbo looked appalled that the tall dwarf was even suggesting such a thing, but bowed his head and nodded seriously. “I so swear, Thorin Oakenshield, but only if you give the book back to me. And I apologize for calling you a badger in my agitation.”

Thorin appeared to be both bristling and blushing beneath the beard and his young nephews chuckled behind him.

“Fine, I’ll return the book, but on one condition.” Bilbo and all the rest of the dwarves froze and the book waited in Thorin’s grip.

“To be assured that your intentions are good, I want you to start again and this time read the book aloud for all of us each night, starting today. If it hides an ill purpose, we will perceive it. If not… then we can enjoy another pleasure beyond music and songs. We dwarves have our own legends but we rarely seek out those of Men. It will be interesting to hear this tale of heroes and kings and toffee.”

Bilbo sighed tiredly at the leader’s non-negotiable decision but held out his hand to take the book from the dwarf. Then he squinted his eyes and peered up at Thorin.

“Toffee?”

Thorin gesticulated at the tome and muttered, “Aye, the toffee who controlled that Illness.” Bilbo’s expression brightened and he couldn’t prevent a laugh bubbling out.

“You mean King Joffrey? The king who rule over Ser Ilyn? Bless my mother’s knitted socks, that’s a funny name for such a disgraceful figure! Toffee!”

Now shaking from mirth the hobbit trotted off to his makeshift bed to wrap a green, woolen blanket around the book to protect it from the draught and dirt.The dwarves sensed it was time to return to their duties lest they attracted Thorin's anger, and the king snorted and turned back to the ponies.

Bofur played idly with the right end of his moustache and clapped a hand on Bombur’s broad back. “Back to cooking duty, I suppose. I think everyone is hungry after this scene.”

Bombur wobbled back towards the cauldron to stir it and replied teasingly, “Hungry for food, or for something different? I saw your face when the hobbit climbed all over you.”

Bofur all but swallowed a moustache and sputtered defensively, “He was distraught and looking for comfort! It was lucky I was there to catch him.”

Bombur only hummed as he lifted the scoop to his mouth to taste the stew.

TBC


	2. Direwolves, horses, and grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo reads and the dwarves becomes avid fans. But the book spurs ideas in many of the company's members.

As the hobbit obligingly read them a few chapters each night, the dwarves soon became entranced by the carefully woven story about a world that was similar and yet different to their own. Suddenly, watch duty was even more viewed as a penalty close to dusk when the reading session would begin.

To have the guarding dwarf immediately within the camp would be of no use to anyone, but as captivated as they all were by the story that the listeners forgot to strain their ears for odd noises in the nature, they preferred to not banish the watch to a too far distance from their vision.

The dwarves compromised by making the watch sit thirty feet away from the fire where he would be able to pick up some extracts of the story, and yet have time to warn them against perils. Also, that dwarf’s kin would make sure to update said dwarf the next morning at breakfast when they could all with rested minds discuss the recent happenings, and try to predict the likely consequences.

During the more and more cosy reading sessions, someone always translated Bilbo’s words to Iglishmêk, so Bifur and Oin could understand easier if they wanted to enjoy the story as well. Every listener occupied their hands while Bilbo read; warriors wiped their weapons, tinkers made toys, or carved new utensils, Ori drew portraits when everyone finally was still and Oin rearranged his stock of medicine.

Even Thorin’s forehead became smooth with ease and his eyes shone with attention as he heard the words telling them all of a different world; one in which he had no responsibilities or obstacles to overcome. The King was often found reclined and breathing calmly as his ears drank the droning voice of Bilbo time after time. However, every morning Thorin returned to his wary and commanding mood, eager to reach his mountain.

It was on one such morning, shortly after breaking up camp and mounting the ponies, that Thorin found reason to react firmly to some of the members of the company. As the group approached the plains outside Lord Elrond’s realm, Fili and Kili began anew, just like they had for the last days spent in the woods, behaving rather strangely. The beads on Fili’s head clinked when they collided as he turned his head this way and that, and Kili bent low over his pony as if trying to search for something on the ground.

The young lads seemed to look everywhere for something, and on this morning they were turning in their saddles all the time like eager baby birds in the nest until Thorin finally lashed out, “Will you two stop jerking and ride straight?!”

“Sorry, Thorin,” the youngsters chirped and their uncle sighed heavily and added calmly, “Why have you been doing that for the last few days?”

“No reason,” Kili answered too fast and Thorin narrowed his eyes just as Fili jabbed his elbow into Kili’s left arm.

“Fool!”

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Fili! Don’t injure the arm your brother needs for his bow,” Thorin barked and his nerves were frazzled because of his kins’ mischief. Fili hung his head and smiled weakly, moustache braids dangling sadly.

“We are listening for wolf howls,” he confessed quietly. Thorin frowned at him.

“You know wolves are creatures of the night. They rarely move during daytime and are a lot more evading than wargs.”

“But not mama and papa wolves who need to feed their litters,” Kili offered with a sweet smile and elaborated. “We are trying to hear and track down she-wolves so we can find their dens when we’re on hunting duty.”

Thorin massaged his temple. “Kili, I’ve told you before; dwarves do not eat wolves.”

“I know that! But Fili and I were thinking, maybe we could find ourselves one pup each and sort of… tame it.”

“What?!”

Fili interjected with a businesslike sincerity, “I’m just saying; it would be grand to raise a wolf pup into a loyal friend. Like the Starks did. The summer-born pups should have arrived by now. They could help us with killing game and scare off enemies, keep the watcher company, and protect us in skirmishes. I certainly would like to have a wolf at my side the next time I run into unpleasant creatures.”

“He does have a point,” Balin muttered to Thorin who guided his mount around to face his counselor.

“Don’t betray me now, old friend. You as well as my sister-sons know that it will take months before the pups are grown and able to be of use, and even then they’ll demand too much meat from our hunts. There are also no guarantees that the wild creatures will obey commands, and I myself don’t particularly fancy having my throat ripped open in the dead of night. That’s my final word."

Kili’s face fell and Fili clutched his reins a little harder and looked away as if trying not to cry from disappointment.

“But uncle,” Kili whined, which only made matters worse as Thorin tensed and grew angrier with their persistence and lack of respect, “we would train them until they were trustworthy. Would you really deny your beloved nephews an additional protection, just like the one the Stark children were blessed with from the gods of old and the honorable Ned Stark?”

“Kili, I’m warning you; no more talk of wolf pups. And seize the attempt to nourish your suggestion by using the good Lord Eddard Stark as an argument. I will not be swayed even if I do admire that man.”

Fili dared to snort before he rode ahead, a pouting little brother in tow, and Thorin bent his head and pressed his gloved hand against his scalp. “Mahal, make them forget about the pups.”

Balin on the other hand chuckled lightheartedly as Thorin suffered and pointed out, “You may at least be grateful that you have two clever nephews who know enough about politics to present an idea with plenty of sound arguments. Imagine if you had five children of your own, like the great Lord Stark.”

Thorin paled and his eyes darted to the backs of his nephews ahead and his lips moved, forming but not speaking the words, ‘Durin help me’.

***

After the incident with the trolls when their ponies bolted, the warg attack and the flight through the narrow canyon, the dwarves and their hobbit found themselves in Rivendell alongside the recently returned wizard who unsurprisingly got along very well with the elven hosts.

Though, the company chose to retire to their dorm as soon as supper was over so they could use the opportunity of carefully defended borders to hear more from the story of the land of ice and fire and its characters. But as many chapters were covered, the intriguing curiosity at the other world began to transform into serious contemplation and mounting horror.

Bilbo himself had trouble sleeping one night on silken sheets as he recalled the crestfallen faces of the younger members of the company as he had read to them Daenerys’ first part where it was explained that she was abused by her own power-seeking brother and all but sold off to a wild stranger at a tender age.

Ori had huddled closer to his equally red-haired brother Nori.

Bilbo sighed and rubbed his furry feet together in agitation despite the knowledge that the moonlight that beamed over him through thinly veiled curtains suggested the hour was late. The gentlehobbit had certainly noticed how all the older dwarves squirmed when Viserys began to warn his sister to not wake the dragon. Some of the weathered dwarves originated from Erebor and had seen dragon fire lighting the sky red.

Bilbo gulped at the thought of the dwelling Smaug inside the mountain he was supposed to burgle, and not before long, the little creature trembled beneath his blanket. He feared the next night when he would surely be asked to read many chapters and get to the part where Jaime Lannister pushed Bran Stark down a tower. He wasn’t sure how the dwarves would handle that shock.

***

The next night, when the dwarves had gone to sleep after a united vow to forever hate Jaime Lannister for his despicable deed and his sin with his sister and Queen, Thorin Oakenshield sat on his bedroll, refusing to use the oversized bed offered by the dratted elves, and smoked a pipe until the night had descended on the valley and everything around him grew quiet. Occasionally as he inhaled the smoke, his sapphire-blue eyes gleamed and betrayed what his eyes were fixed on.

Kili lay sprawled on his back, one arm and one leg outside both blanket and bedroll but his breathing was calm and even. Beside the dark-haired archer, Thorin’s best swords-wielder was positioned on his side, facing Kili as if that had been the last thing Fili saw before he fell asleep. Thorin kept observing his nephews as his leaf burned lower, until something rustled and shifted on the floor to the left of him.

“I can feel you staring a hole in their heads, Thorin. Rest while you can,” Dwalin muttered in a rough voice as he struggled to sit up and have a look at his leader. Thorin merely let go of the pipe, letting it hang freely from his mouth, held steady by his teeth. He changed position until his knees were pulled up in front of him so he could rest his weary arms on them.

“This book of Master Baggins… it’s getting grimmer.”

Dwalin huffed and peered at him with tired eyes. “You’ve seen and heard worse than that fantasy of an odd fellow who hides in inns, conveying good people to buy his books. The last events shouldn’t bring you nightmares.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’m not afraid. Well, not for myself.”

“Whatever is the matter, then?”

“I hate to call her a lady, but Lady Cersei Lannister… She spoke to Lady Catelyn Stark. She knows her brother has harmed Bran and yet she plays the concerned queen towards a bereft mother. Still, I find myself torn, because even as she displays evil, she said things that stirred memories.”

Dwalin had abandoned the impatient expression and was intently listening to his old companion. Thorin continued while staring at his sister-sons.

“Cersei’s tale about her dead child. A black-haired beautiful infant who fought a fever in vain. King Robert’s craze when he realized his child had died. Cersei’s scream when Robert had to hold her back when someone came to remove the body from her arms. A little, defenseless, innocent child… I admit I was touched by her true grief.

I guess it reminded me of Kili’s birth. I was there, caressing my sister’s forehead and holding her hand when she clenched so hard around my hand it was blue for days after. I comforted Fili when he was terrified by his mother’s absence and tortured screams. After the birth, the healer, Dis, and I were so afraid that the years Dis had spent in the wilderness after Fili’s birth would have harmed Kili. But the small lad was fine. Healthy and strong. Oh, Kili, you were such a strong and blessed dwarrow.”

Thorin had turned his eyes to his youngest kin and addressed him even as he snored lightly. A heavy hand clapped Thorin once on the shoulder and the warrior dwarf beside him sighed.

“He looks up to you. He’s a good lad. Fili too. But they are adult dwarves and capable of handling the wild and any enemies we will face. They chose to wander the same path as you and while I cannot promise they will come out unscratched by it, you and I have trained them and given them the best odds we could.”

Then Dwalin tilted his head thoughtfully and commented, “But I do know they need a rested leader to make the decisions on our quest. You owe it to them and the rest of the lot to get some sleep.”

At last, Thorin removed the pipe from parted lips and turned it over to knock it gently against the floor so the remains of the leaf fell out and stopped glowing.

“I’m grateful for your advice and ability to pull me from silly mindsets,” he let out, a little embarrassed for his confession but Dwalin shook his head.

“Not silly, My King. Loving, as a dwarf caring for his family perhaps, but never silly.”

Thorin smirked before he eased down on the bedroll and folded his arms over his chest. He could rest easier now, reassured by Dwalin's words.

***

After leaving Rivendell, Bilbo wondered casually if they would by any chance pass by Rohan.

“Thorin doesn’t intend to lead the company through the gap of Rohan and into the horse realm, no,” Balin answered and then inclined his head and added, “Why do you wonder?” Bilbo jerked his head back and stammered while appearing to closely inspect the road ahead, “Just curious.”

But the perceptive Dori chuckled beside them and said while tapping a finger to his round nose, “I wager that Mr. Baggins finds himself charmed by the idea of tall and stately horse lords with hair long like the manes of their mounts.”

The other dwarves immediately perked up and started to tease the mortified Bilbo.

“Fancy a ride so much you miss the ponies, do you, Bilbo?” Bofur laughed before Ori piped up, “I don’t care for green food, but maybe a hobbit doesn’t mind eating grass. I’ve read that the Rohan people have plenty of grass and horses, and they adore their horses, so there’s no question what they put on their plates.”

“ _Chip the glasses and crack the plates! That's what Bilbo Baggins_ …” Fili hollered joyfully but was cut off after a stern look from his old tutor Dwalin who then nonchalantly happened to drop his enormous hammer on the ground so a dull thud was heard which must have startled the blond heir into muteness for the rest of the day.

Bilbo explained with blushing cheeks that it was Daenerys’ storyline that had captured his interest and that he enjoyed reading about her perception of a new culture and viewed it as an interesting study of adaption. Plus he thought the Dothraki custom to let their hair grow as long as they are not defeated was fascinating.

Ahead of the conversing hobbit and dwarves, Thorin lowered his chin to his chest glumly and contemplated the hobbit’s answer and his own long, luscious, black mane that was rarely cut, only trimmed.

He might be thinking higher of the burglar for each day that passed, but when he had at last worked up the courage to speak to him without barking out commands, he was deterred by the revelation of what kind of characters the hobbit favoured. Painful memories of all his failed battles or costly victories rose to Thorin’s mind and he hefted his packing into a better place on his back. If Thorin had belonged to the Dothraki people, he would most likely have been forced to forever wear his hair short.

Maybe he wasn’t a hero in his own story like the mighty Khal Drogo clearly was to the hobbit no matter his denial of any interest to the Rohirrim or the Dothraki.

Maybe Thorin would never win Bilbo’s affection. Thorin’s lips went from being set in a line to point downwards as he had a proper royal sulk.

***

On a slippery mountain cliff, after witnessing a legendary thunder battle between stone giants, Bilbo had just barely avoided getting crushed but was now hanging down the mountain with a weak grip on the rock.

“Bilbo!” Bofur cried out and he and Ori threw themselves onto their bellies to reach down and pull him up, but they only made Bilbo slide further down into the darkness below the edge.

Ever the pragmatic, Nori suddenly spotted the pack on Bilbo’s back and made everyone rush to aid their companion when he exclaimed, “Bilbo has the book! Save him!”

In a rush of frenzy, the dwarves managed to get him up, though they did succumb to the withering glare from the hobbit. As a punishment for their conditioned protection and unfair priorities, Bilbo refused to read even a sentence to them that night in the cave.

In hindsight that was fortunate however, as Bilbo’s book was safely tucked away in his bag when the floor tipped and they all tumbled towards mad goblins.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit half-serious chapter this one in some sections... I promise the final one will contain more crack, but I can't ignore my feels for Thorin and his family and suffering after Smaug's attack (sorry). Expect more romance, house rivalry, and humour in the next chapter which will be long too! Do comment if you want to.


	3. Treasures, bears, and dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dwarves are joking, others are mourning because of the content in Bilbo's book.

During the time when the company slowly made their way down the large rock where the eagles had placed them, they were all a bit worse for the wear because of the resent captivity and skirmish with goblins, orcs, and wargs.

Bofur was suddenly casually addressing Balin. The advisor was hardly bothered by the attention, eager that someone sought his answers.

“Balin, please remind me again; so King Thror was black of hair.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Just like his son; Thrain?” Bofur lifted his head in question.

“Yes, of course. The blood of Durin runs deep in the veins of the royalty of Erebor,” Balin confirmed and Bofur lit up.

“Ah, like all the Baratheons! Because I can see with my own eyes that Thorin has dark hair, albeit a few strands of granite have find their way into his braids.”

That particular remark made a bruised and battered Thorin send a warning glance at the toy-maker who smiled back as if he had no worries in the world. Weary now from the questioning, Balin retorted in regard to Bofur’s observation, “Yes, but what is your main point, Bofur?”

Bofur looked pondering and tilted his head sideways. “I once read that our fallen prince Frerin had hair black like a crow. And the strong princess Dis is black of hair.”

Naturally interested in the talk of their line, Thorin’s nephews came up to Bofur’s side with unexpecting faces. Balin threw his hands out and exclaimed, “Yes, yes, yes; according to ancient chronicles since the founding of Erebor and the beginning of the Longbeard Durins as our Kings, the King and his family have been more or less black of hair! Even I and Dwalin have dark hair as cousins!”

Bofur coughed and bashfully ducked his head down, though a playful smirked was displayed and he sent a wicked wink Bilbo’s way.

“Oh. So if the Durin line is so prone to have dark hair, how come Fili, bless the lad, has hay-coloured hair?”

Immediately the toymaker had awakened the wrath of Durin and loud protests echoed over the forest below.

Thorin thundered, “His hair is golden!” Fili scowled disbelievingly. “Are you implying I am a bastard?” Kili added with an irritated snarl, “My brother is not like Joffrey Baratheon! Fili is the rightful heir to Thorin and no-one shall question his heritage, friend or foe!”

Thorin pointed a warning finger at Bofur who looked close to laughing.

“Toy-maker, if you are saying that my beloved sister had an affair with a Lannister-fairhaired incest-ridden beast and birthed a misbegotten dwarfling, you have another thing coming,” Thorin rumbled and his other hand went for the hilt of Orcrist, ready to defend the honour of his heir.

Bofur only sniggered and tipped his hat in their direction. “Got that, Your Majesties.” But throughout that morning walk, he received glares from three individual dwarves.

***

Once the dwarves breathed easier under the shelter of leaves instead of trotting down the exposed rock, Dwalin fell in step beside their scribe who made odd motions with his hands and kept mumbling incoherently.

“What are you doing, lad?” the warrior asked what he thought was a gentle tone but Ori flinched and dropped his arms nevertheless; embarrassment turning his face red.

“Mister Dwalin! Oh, uhm, forgive me my manners. I was startled.”

Dwalin smiled kindly and tried not to bash his own tattooed head against a tree for his first mistake in the conversation. “No need to be nervous anymore. We are far from the evil scum and these woods hold only birds and deer; I can feel that. But don’t mind me; you just keep doing whatever you did before I disturbed you.”

A hand was suddenly placed on Dwalin's bare arm below the rolled-up sleeve of his tunic.

“You didn’t disturb me. I was merely placing the recent events in order in my head. Need to keep them neat for later when I have time to write them down,” Ori stuttered quietly. Dwalin was relieved that the lad tolerated his presence, and felt confident enough to touch him, however innocently.

“I’ve meant to speak to you about your work. Do you have enough time to document our adventures, what with Bilbo reading the Song of Ice and Fire to us each night?”

Before Ori had time to reply though, Dori shouldered between them and all but nudged his little brother away from Dwalin. “Walk with me for a bit, Ori,” the white-haired dwarf said imperiously and Ori only had time to throw Dwalin a regretful glance over his shoulder before having to converse with the proper dwarf who watched over him and his virtue like a hawk.

Dwalin pursed his lips and hefted his axes into a more balanced position on his back when a familiar chuckle reached his jagged ear.

“What are you laughing about, brother?” Dwalin muttered.

“Watching you fail.” Balin waved a thumb in the two brothers’ direction. “I believe you will find that lad more guarded than Erebor’s treasure and Tywin Lannister’s riches together.”

“Yet the most unlikely pairings have a chance in A Song of Ice and Fire,” Gandalf suddenly mused aloud where he strode beside them and Dwalin sent him a surprised look. He hadn’t expected the wizard to meddle, nor encourage him that some folk did have a chance to love each other, given time and favorable circumstances. But then Dwalin peered up at the tall figure, suspicion on his face.

“How could you know anything about that book when you’ve rarely been here to hear Bilbo’s readings? And we haven’t come by any remarkably unlikely courting yet. Do you know what’s to come later on?”

All of a sudden, Gandalf shoved his staff in the ground and announced quickly to the group, “Must leave. Have to look ahead and look behind. You just go on this route until you come across a special man called Beorn. Goodbye.”

And somehow, the wizard had disappeared between the trees in the next moment, leaving behind a disgruntled warrior dwarf.

***

The generous and yet hostile suggestion the inhumanly large man Beorn agreed to was to let the dwarves be guests in his cottage in a clearing for as long as they needed until their strength had returned. But the host made sure to let his guests know that they might be accepted but hardly welcomed.

Still, he shared his storage of food with the starved company. Often, Beorn left them alone for days to instead roam the forest surrounding them as a bear. This suited the company however, who now had plenty of time to make good use of.

Bilbo was obligated to read as many chapters as possible during that lazy time, and the hobbit happily complied, eager to reach the part where he had last finished and see what would happen to the honourable Ned Stark. But the gentle hobbit soon regretted his fast moving tongue as he sat in Beorn’s fire place room when he came across the part taking place at the Baelor in King’s Landing.

But he bravely kept reading, voice interrupted by sobs, hands trembling on the book’s back. Then the inevitable happened and Bilbo had to put down the book to not destroy the letters with his dripping tears.

“No, no, no! It can’t be! Joffrey can’t have had Ned’s head cut off. It’s impossible. It’s a sham, there’s bound to be a solution to this, he must have gotten away…” Bilbo sunk into the armchair and cried his heart out. A hand suddenly patted his crown hesitantly.

“Bilbo, I… I’m so sorry. But you have to accept it; Ned was beheaded and he is gone,” Bofur said.

“But he was the one true hero and an honourable man!” Bilbo exclaimed and wrenched his head up to glare defiantly at the serious dwarf with sagging moustaches and compassion written on his tired face.

As the hobbit was made aware of the other’s shared pain, he realized that the room was filled with sobs, fists punching furniture, noses being blown. Every dwarf was grieving. Kili burrowed closer into his uncle’s consoling embrace and hiccupped while Fili was tugging at the braids in his golden hair and rocking his torso up and down. Thorin’s back was rigid and he was definitely stone-faced like a statue. Thorin’s eyes however were dark and fixed on the shuddering hobbit.

“Read on, Halfling.”

Bilbo shifted uneasily at the command and a tortured protest tore from Bofur. “Can’t you let him rest for a moment?”

Thorin blinked and stroked Kili’s wet cheek with a calloused hand. “The sooner Master Baggins picks up that wretched book and continues reading, the sooner we will move past this horrible tragedy. And remember, this isn’t easy for me either. You all know Ser Eddard Stark was my favorite character so now I have next to no reason to keep listening, but I shall, out of respect for the family he’s leaving behind.”

Then Thorin tipped his head sideways and said coaxingly to the respectable but sniveling hobbit, “Bilbo, please take up the book and go on. It’s what we all must.”

And Bofur closed his red-rimmed eyes, understanding his king’s argument, but the story of the Starks felt so hopeless right now. He nodded once before nudging the tome in Bilbo’s lap toward his fingers. “Bilbo, read for us. Remember every amusing episode we’ve encountered so far. This isn’t an altogether tragic story. There will be more funny details further on. We just have to reach them.”

“Do you think so?” Bilbo sniffed and Bofur swallowed on the lump in his throat. “I promise,” he said, thus finally making the hobbit start to read again, but at the same time binding himself to an unsure guarantee that everything in the book would be better after Ned’s death.

Oh, how wrong Bofur was going to be.

But that evening ended on a happier note when Bilbo came to the last part of the first book in the large tome. Fili and Kili sat oddly still when Bilbo regaled how the widowed Daenerys walked into the blazing pyre of her lost Khal, how the dress and all her clothes were burned off but that she emerged with three hatched dragons clutching her naked body, nursing from her breasts.

Once Bilbo secluded the final part of that book within the tome with: “ _and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons_.”, Fili jumped up and dragged a stumbling Kili along. Turned awkwardly away from the group and sort of walking sideways towards the thick door leading out, the brothers disappeared.

The perceptive healer, Oin commented once the lads had vanished into the darkness outside, “Those words must have been stirring, if you know what I mean.”

“What?” Ori asked with innocence that charmed every dwarf in the room, one large one especially.

“It’s just breasts!” Nori noted while picking his nails with disinterest but was contested by Bombur who recalled his rumblings with his wife. “Still worth fondling yourself for.” That bold statement made Thorin scowl.

“My nephews are probably checking the edge of the clearing like responsible scouts to ensure our safety.” The king received a bump in his side from Balin who waggled his bushy eyebrows.

“Come now, Thorin, you seriously don’t think they are already stroking themselves as we speak? All young dwarves experience the sudden need for pleasure."

“Can we stop talking about my nephews’ whereabouts and focus on the damned dragons! I fear what will happen to the Seven Kingdoms now that a mourning widow has three dragons at her beck and call,” Thorin let out in a growl that sent all the dwarves to scurry off to their various sleeping places.

 ***

The next day, right after luncheon, Thorin paced restlessly from room to room, stepping over bedrolls and enormous stairs. His rage was understandable but frightening nonetheless, which was why all the other dwarves and hobbit spent some time placing traps in the forest to capture some game to repay Beorn’s hospitality. That is, all except one dwarf.

Thorin nearly gasped and lost his footing when he noticed Bifur in a dark corner, gaze flickering between Thorin and busy hands making signs.

“I thought everyone was outside,” Thorin excused himself with but his blood boiled from anxiety and he almost missed Bifur’s signed reply.

“ _King angry._ ”

“And every right to be so,” Thorin muttered back and stepped closer to the damaged elder dwarf.

“ _Tell Bifur elk, tunnel, dig.”_  

Thorin overlooked the stranger parts of Bifur’s sentence and sighed. “I find myself troubled with the Targaryan girl. While she had my pity earlier, I must shun her now. Even as a girl thrown into an unknown world of grass and poverty through a forced marriage, there can be no excuses for her behaviour now. She used black magic as if she was a despicable orc and then she burned her deceased husband instead of burying him under rocks like a proper dwarf funeral ritual despite being surrounded by stone. And then she acts with madness and walks straight into flames only to emerge with those beasts!”

Bifur smacked his tongue and nibbled on his lip as he corrected with sign language, “ _Gold. Honey. Not princess-angry. Dragon-angry_.”

Thorin slumped against the wall and massaged his temple. “You’re right, Bifur. Mostly I’m upset at her dragons. But in making them reappear in the world, Daenerys has a part of the blame for whatever horrors that will surely come in the future."

“ _Daenerys sad. You sad. Sad make mad decisions. Home gone. Dragon fire. Jewel_.“

“I am not Daenerys! I hate her with a passion! Thorin shouted and gestured wildly with his hand in the air before he added under his breath, “Fucking dragons.”

But Bifur shook his head and studied him forlornly, eyes staring freakishly at the other dwarf. “ _Dragon scare. Gold not good too. Hurt princess brother. Folk greedy. Bad decisions. Gold not good this world, that world. Grandfather_.”

Thorin’s face drained and he emitted with a hoarse tone, “Did you mention my grandfather?”

“ _Ale. Pipe. Spear_.” Bifur signed slowly with sloppier movements and it became obvious that the injured dwarf’s moment of clarity had passed. But Thorin left him in his dark corner to venture outside to make the sudden chill in his bones vanish.

A quote appeared in his mind once he closed the front door behind him. _What do you know about fear?_ Thorin closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “Everything,” he whispered, thinking of dragon fire, gold sickness, homelessness, poverty, despair, and elves. He then heard his company from the other side of the cottage and went around.

***

All the dwarves were relaxing in the descending sun with pipes and honeyed ale, leaning against Beorn’s cottage or lying in the grass after a hefty meal of roasted deer. Bofur began to hum a happy tune, the others joined in, and soon they were mouthing the words to the latest song they had come across in the book; one which Bofur had clearly invented a melody for.

"She kicked and wailed, The maid so fair, But he licked the honey, From her hair! Her hair! Her hair! He licked the honey, From her hair! Then she sighed and squealed, And kicked the air, She sang: My bear so fair, And off they went, The bear! The bear! And the maiden fair!"

Then they all cheered and raised their wooden tankards before taking large drinks of the sweet mead to quench the thirst in their mouths. After a compulsory round of burping, Bofur wiped his lips with the back of his hand and chuckled, “Greatest song ever, don’t you agree lads?”

All the elder dwarves began to laugh with him and make knowing smirks and winks at each other while three dwarves remained more serious.

The frustrated Ori who swatted off Dori’s hands from where they had covered his ears throughout the song, Dori who looked deeply disapproving, and Kili who tilted his head and smiled with confusion written on his bare face.

“What? What am I missing? Is there some message in the song?” he asked unsurely and Dwalin clapped him hard in the back so he nearly spilled all his remaining ale on the ground.

“Aye, and some message, eh? Pity you’re too young to catch it.”

Kili frowned and then gasped when his brother yanked him closer, smug grin plastered on his face. “Come here, Kili, I know what it means.” Fili then proceeded to whisper in his ear. The other dwarves waited patiently until Kili’s face became long and his cheeks reddened.

“Beorn’s tongue goes _where_?!” the young archer cried out in a scandalous voice and his shout was caught by Thorin who just came around the corner. The king immediately evaluated the situation and his expression matched Dori’s.

“Don’t let our honoured host hear that song or any jokes related to bears or the Mormonts,” he said icily and chased away the warmth from the Company’s bodies. “Yes _m’lord_ ,” Bofur muttered under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I yield! I realized that I have way too much material for one more chapter and it would be better to make more than three chapters to get all the good stuff included. So, expect more updates.


	4. Clash of kings and opinions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company discusses the family fractions in Westeros but some dwarves are just enamored.

The further the Company trudged into Mirkwood, the further they got in Bilbo’s book as well. The constant darkness that even unnerved the dwarves meant everybody was happy to light fires in the night camps and forget about their surroundings for a moment. And Bilbo happily obliged them and read more of the second great part of his book of another world.

Currently they were at the part where considerably more houses and kings were clamouring for the right to the Iron Throne and the crown over the Seven Kingdoms. Obviously the opinionated dwarves, blended with their own history and traditions, had a lot to discuss concerning the impending civil war and who was right in the conflict.

Nori scoffed and folded his arms over his chest as he warmed his feet by the fire. “A king is one who has control over his land, and is ambitious enough to claim and keep what is wants. It’s strength and craftiness that secures that control. Therefore I deem the Greyjoys to be the perfect family to rule at least the North.”

Dwalin sent him a withering glare.

“That’s a thought only plunders and thieves without honour come across, like you and the Greyjoys. Even if those boatmen at the coast brave to invade the North, they’ll provide no safeness for the civilians, for how constant and responsible are they really? ' _We do not sow'_ , indeed. Besides, if they go, Robb Stark will make them regret it soon enough.”

Nori huffed at the warrior and only muttered quietly while fiddling with his restless fingers, “We’ll see about that.”

Dwalin grunted at the red-haired dwarf, having a suspicion that he had sneaked the book from the hobbit’s bag in the middle of the night to read ahead. However Dwalin had no proof of this so he let it slide for now.

Balin scratched his beard and mused, “Anyone interested in a bet on which house gets the throne in this book, because it’s obvious that the brat Joffrey can’t hold the title if challenged.”

Immediately every dwarf perked up and waged their guesses, as well as contesting the advisor’s statement.

“Why should Joffrey be dethroned? Alright, he’s a man-whelp barely dry behind his ears, and he's despicable for executing Ned Stark, but in the end, he inherited the throne from his father, King Robert, and so, he has the right of the succession on his side,” argued Gloin and got a swat on his head by his elder brother.

“Don’t you listen to Bilbo, or are you simply not hearing, laddie?” Oin remarked whereas Gloin sullenly rubbed his head and heard his deaf brother continue, “A child born from brother and sister, albeit a royal family, isn’t fit for any throne. Breeds like Joffrey get wrong from the union between Jaime and Cersei. And furthermore, he isn’t related to the Baratheon family which means he has no right to inherit Robert’s crown.”

Thorin tilted his head in respect to the wise healer and shouted, “I take it you favour the Baratheon’s then; seeing as the crown in that aspect should go to Robert’s next-of-kin, which is Stannis.”

Oin nodded solemnly. “Aye, I’m a traditionalist myself, and Stannis seems like an excellent ruler, except for his rather exotic taste in fire and that red lady. Trust me, to stare into a flame doesn’t provide you with any omens, just temporary blindness.”

Oin finally added after a moment, “But of course Stannis will have to kill his brother Renly for going against him and the throne which he has no right to.”

Ori flinched and piped up, despite Dori’s already half-embarrassed sigh at the young dwarf who would choose to involve himself in the conversation, “But I like Renly. He promised Ned that he would be a gentle king and maybe that’s what the common people really needs. A flower king who is brave, beneficent, and only wants to be loved by his subjects.”

The timid scribe received several dubious, and some amused looks, but only one gave him an intrigued smile with truly kind eyes.

***

It was actually Kili who shocked everyone the next afternoon on the faint trail through the woods when he happily declared himself a vivid admirer of Daenerys Targaryen after a whole days’ thinking. Thorin sent his beloved nephew a murdering scowl.

Fili chuckled at his brother, “You only want her for her body. Admit it!”

“It’s not true!” Kili denied. “Hear me out, please. Now, she has the most efficient, best weapon in the whole world, she has control over the creatures for now at least, and she has many qualities that would make her a good regent.”

“Such as…?” his brother teased and the raven-haired prince began to flush and stammer.

“She… takes good care of her hair, even when travelling through a desert. She cares about the scouts she sends out looking for cities, which I think is really important for a commander. Oh, and maybe she’s a little bit cute, and that always wins the affection of people.”

“You should know,” Bilbo muttered to himself, not wanting anyone to hear him insulting the young and naïve dwarf.

However Fili loudly accused Kili of _so_ only paying attention to her appearance after her naked time in the pyre, to which the other dwarf responded with an intelligent ‘Am not’ and thus Thorin’s heirs were engaged in a childish bickering of ‘Are too’s and ‘Am not’s.

Thorin interrupted the cacophony with a stern remark. “The line of Durin shall never admire anyone associating with foul dragons. No, we should all embrace the Stark house which is in much need of support now that the head of the house has been murdered by Joffrey. It’s always better to be prepared for quests than rush ahead without wit, like the Targaryan girl does. I have faith in young Robb Stark. He seems utterly dedicated to his campaign and it’s perfectly natural for him to not only seek vengeance for the wrongdoings to his family, but also to want to free for all he knows both his sisters in King’s Landing, and attempt to free the North from the bonds of a ruler they have nothing in common with.”

“' _Winter is coming'_ , Master Oakenshield. A good attitude to the world in those words,” Balin agreed and Thorin looked pleased with his old friend’s approval. It was always clever to expect the worst and prepare for it, like the Starks did. Though, the king’s proposition of which house his nephews should prefer didn’t go well with the youngsters in question.

Kili muttered behind Thorin’s back, “' _Fire and blood'_ is a much more ballsy motto.”

But it was the golden-haired one who truly scandalized everyone and made the whole Company halt on the track when he openly stated that his favorite character was Jaime Lannister.

The Traitor, Children-Assaulter, Kingslayer, and Sister-fucker.

The one the whole Company had vowed on should die if they ever came across him, or the twisted role model the author of the book had had when he wrote that man.

Thorin launched himself with rage at his heir and grabbed him by the collar before growling, “Explain this travesty, sister-son, or else you’ll find yourself forced to go in the front of the Company into the unknown territory before us.”

Fili paled but raised his chin even as he wrenched himself free from Thorin’s grip. “Well, Jaime is a dashing and perfect prince. He’s royally golden-haired; always a good sign to us dwarves, he has excellent sword skills, wit, and a clever tongue. He is surviving every peril he comes across and currently endures captivity within the rivaling house’s camp in the North still with his spirits intact. He’s a resourceful fighter who’s never giving up, and he fights foremost for his family, which is a quality even we can admire.”

Dori let out a short laugh. “The lad has nicely created a steady foundation for his bold statement. Tell me, Fili, do you believe we will see a transformation in Ser Jaime Lannister soon to the better?”

Fili hitched the strap of one of his bags higher on his shoulder and nodded. Meanwhile, Thorin was horrified that his _supposed_ heir would favour the Kingslayer.

“He murders kings and attempts to murder children, and he sleeps with his sister! Those crimes cannot be dissolved by a few esteemed characteristics. Maybe I was wrong to think you suitable to become my heir. Maybe I should reconsider that honour,” he suggested darkly and as Fili’s face fell, Kili’s turned panicked.

The youngest Durin exclaimed shrilly, “No, uncle; I am not fit for the throne of Erebor. I won’t do it. I’ll… I’ll take the black!”

Gloin leaned into Oin’s trumpet and smirked. “That’s what Kili and Fili’s father said when he first laid eyes on their mother.”

“What?” Oin barked and Gloin rolled his eyes, not wanting to repeat himself, for Balin glowered at him with suspicion.

“I said, take the black!” he shouted and Oin leaned away with disbelief.

“Stake the sack? Stop being so vulgar, Gloin.”

Gloin groaned while the others began to roar with laughter at Oin’s deafness except for Bilbo who flushed like a ripe tomato at the coarseness of dwarves and for Kili who still pleaded with Thorin who fought to keep a straight face at his desperate nephew.

“Thorin, please don’t make me the heir. _Not today_! _Not today_!”

“You don’t have to think of me as Death, Kili,” Thorin frowned, afraid that he had frightened the archer too much when Bofur cheekily interjected, “If you’re not Death, then maybe you’re the opposite, Your Majesty? If so, do you care for a water dance, Master Oakenshield?”

“Enough talk of Death and Syrio Forel!” Thorin barked back before ducking his head as he blushed prettily under the majestic beard for being propositioned like a wallflower at a ball.

***

That night after another session of reading about the intrigues in King’s Landing with the crafty Tyrion as the Hand of the King, Dwalin had to take the late watch when the night was pitch dark save for the embers from their small fire and the glowing eyes amongst the trees.

The warrior was uneasy at their diminishing supply of food and firewood. The journey through Mirkwood took longer than anyone had expected, and the Company was growing weary of the silence, gleaming eyes in the periphery, and gnawing hunger.

A noise startled Dwalin who turned his jagged ear towards the sound but detected nothing approaching the camp. But one dwarf in a bedroll was tossing and turning, and releasing moans of distress.

Dwalin frowned and got up from his seta by the fire to ease the person from what must be a nightmare. He reached down and shook him by the shoulder when he heard a pleading voice.

“Renly, no.”

Dwalin almost withdrew his hands upon realizing it was the lovely scribe who was trembling at his feet. Still, he couldn’t let poor Ori suffer a nightmare, and it wouldn’t do to stand over him like a freak and maybe get caught by Dori, should the older brother awaken from his youngest brother’s whimpers.

So Dwalin nudged the barely bearded dwarf a little more until his lashes fluttered up and brown eyes stared up at Dwalin in confusion. Dwalin coughed coyly and took a step back as the dwarf came to.

“You alright, laddie?”

The red-haired dwarf sat up hesitantly and looked around with a perplexed gaze.

“Mister Dwalin. What, uhm, what happened?” he wondered and Dwalin felt a small portion of his steel heart soften at the lad’s sleepy and innocent voice. Then Ori’s features shifted into a mask of pain and to his horror, Dwalin watched him start to quiver with gathering tears in his eyes.

“Oh, no! I remember. It was so real in my head. The murder of Renly Baratheon with dark magic.”

Dwalin was forced by instinct to stride over to the sad dwarf to kneel at his side and caress his arm.

“It was a nightmare, Ori. Bilbo’s book is becoming too gruesome for your ears.” Dwalin’s voice was bitter, for anything that caused Ori pain was evil in his mind. However, the other dwarf shushed him.

“No, I… I can handle it.”

“But in your dreams you are plagued by Renly’s death, aren’t you?” Dwalin replied and Ori tilted his head and worried his pink lip as he sobbed quietly, “It was so unfair! That he would fall in such a cowardly assassination when he had vowed to rule kindly if he claimed the Iron Throne. When he had to be there for his lov… loyal supporters.”

Dwalin studied him dubiously and sat back on his haunches. “Come with me so we can talk about something else to calm your mind without disturbing the others,” he muttered and looked pointedly at the sleeping and snoring dwarves surrounding them. Ori nodded and got up from his smaller mountain of blankets inside the bedroll as Dwalin moved to the glowing fire and pushed a half-burned log further into the ember with the ironclad tip of his boot.

They sat down beside each other on a large log, not touching, but too close for casual conversation. Dwalin blamed it on the night cold and thoughtfulness of not waking up another member of the Company by talking loudly over a distance.

“Now, let’s rid you of that nightmare by speaking of more pleasant matters. For instance; who’s your favorite character? Is it Renly?” Dwalin asked and Ori nibbled on his adorable lip.

“Would you mind if you go first? I want to have time to decide properly,” Ori whispered.

Dwalin hummed and gave him a reassuring smile before stating, “I have to admit I find myself amused with Arya Stark. She’s a feisty and clever one. I suppose I somehow think she reminds me of Fili and Kili when they were wee dwarflings with a temper. I used to teach them how to use wooden swords. Stick ‘em with the pointy end, eh? Took a while for the lads to figure out that a hilt can also be resourceful in the heat of battle.”

“Right,” Ori said hesitantly, an unhappy gleam in his eyes that upset Dwalin the longer he watched it on the youth’s delicate face. “I forget that you’ve known Fili and Kili for decades. They must admire you very much; for having the luck of growing up with you as their tutor.”

Dwalin scoffed and only partly turned his body so to glance at the two sleeping forms under blankets tightly wound around their slender bodies. Then he leant closer to Ori, whose breath hitched when Dwalin’s tattooed wrist brushed against his slender arm.

“They were wee rascals who demanded great patience from Thorin and me. I would much rather have taught lads with your personality. See, I favour the focused and listening kind of dwarves.”

“You do?” Ori breathed and the small bump on his throat bobbed when he swallowed nervously. Dwalin felt pleasant warmth spreading inside him that was not caused by the fire.

Before bringing the conversation back to a less intimate subject, Dwalin smirked and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I shall tell you a secret only for your ears. Between you and me, I’ve temporarily named Keeper Needle in Arya’s honour. That’s a proof of how much I admire her.”

Ori blinked at him curiously. “Oh, that’s nice. But does Grasper keep its name?”

Dwalin looked deep into Ori’s eyes and said slowly, “I might have renamed that axe too, but it’s not a name I can say yet, only that it starts with O.”

Naturally, the scribe squeaked and broke their eye contact to instead intensely stare at the flames while a blush travelled high on his cheeks. Dwalin decided to change the subject and not make the other dwarf uncomfortable.

“So, who’s your favourite?”

“I beg your pardon?” Ori croaked and Dwalin felt a little smug at the way he affected the younger dwarf. “I meant the houses in Bilbo’s book, not my axes, or the members of the Company,” he elaborated and Ori exhaled with relief.

“Oh, that. Uhm, I think I favour the Tyrells, and Loras particularly. I like that they adore flowers and prosperity over war and power, and how loyal Loras was to Renly.”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “Funny that. You see, I find myself appreciating the house of Martell.”

Always a clever dwarf, Ori immediately found the hidden meaning Dwalin had realized. “Tyrell and Martell. The words rhyme.”

Dwalin watched contentedly how the dwarf began to smile. “Yes, and maybe the houses are connected in more ways.”

Ori tilted his head sideways and peered at the warrior in query. Dwalin explained, “Well, they are practically neighbours. And for all that Martell’s land Dorne seems mountainous, dry, rocky like a desert, the region is along its rivers quite fertile. Maybe Dorne can harvest almost as much crop as the Reach where the Tyrells reside.”

Ori listened interested so Dwalin continued, though not really sure if it was for the Martells case he was arguing anymore.

“Another similarity between the houses are their words. Yes, they might seem different at first, but consider it: _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken_ and _Growing Strong_. The Tyrells are not to be mistaken for harmless gardeners or something. They are a striving kind, forever gathering strength and a force to be reckoned with. Just like the Martells are displaying fierceness, stubbornness, and strength. Both houses are _strong_.”

“Mister Dwalin, I am impressed with how much you have thought about this. Your explanation does seem valid to me,” Ori replied before giving him a question with a teasing grin lighting his face. “But what about their emblems?”

Dwalin made a humming noise as he pondered it. After a moment he beamed towards the now happy scribe.

“The emblems are alike as well. Because a spear might be a splendid weapon, but remember Ori, that even a rose has thorns. Ori grew shy again and mumbled softly, “You really think a slingshot is an efficient weapon, then?”

Dwalin confirmed it by clapping Ori over the back, and maybe lingering in the touch. “Aye, and your skill with it has proven very useful many times. Now, scurry off lad and get some sleep. The hour grows late.”

Ori got up, almost reluctantly, and dusted off his tunic. “Thank you Mister Dwalin for the conversation. I’m sure it has distracted me from any more nightmares.”

The young dwarf finished with a pat on Dwalin’s broad shoulder with his mitten-clad hand, and Dwalin sat cozy by the fire with a stupid grin on his face for the rest of his watch.

***

Bilbo could hardly believe it when he snuck by one of the prison cells in Thranduil’s palace, invisible to all thanks to his remarkable ring. There to his left sat Bofur crosslegged on the floor and eating soup while discussing Tyrion from the book with Bombur and a hardly aware Bifur instead of worrying about his predicament like the rest of the Company!

Still, the dwarf with the wonky hat seemed joyful with the simplest of things; his brother and cousin’s company, a warm meal after starving in Mirkwood forest, and speaking of a story. So Bilbo couldn’t help but linger by their cage and listen to the merry dwarf.

“Listen to me:  ‘ _Sometimes possession is an abstract concept. When they captured me, they took my purse, but the gold is still mine_.’ Go on, Bombur, and tell me Lord Tyrion isn’t the wisest man in the book.”

The round dwarf who paced by the far wall huffed and stroked his great ring of mustaches thoughtfully. “Well, he certainly makes his way through the world no matter what trouble he gets himself into. But I’m yet befuddled by the family ties. How can he be a dwarf if he has parents from mankind? Or is he some sort of small human? I don’t understand.”

Bofur put down his bowl of soup on the decorated floor and rolled his eyes impatiently. “O dear, ' _my brother has his ladle and I have my mind...and a mind needs books as a ladle needs a pot if it is to keep its edge'_. I shall explain to you, silly. This is a fantasy story, so everything the author describes isn’t real! Which means a dwarf can have Men for parents and belong to Mankind.”

Bombur smiled unsurely and Bifur carefully knocked on one wall while he muttered something Bilbo couldn’t understand. Although, Bofur beamed and turned his head to his kin.

“That’s right, Bifur! Maybe the author was misinformed of dwarves, like so many people are. Perhaps this is just another misconception about our kind, just like some men thinks we spring from holes in the ground!”

Bombur and his brother began to chuckle and Bilbo tried to stifle a laugh himself. Then Bombur emitted, “But I do feel sorry for the Tyrion lad even if he’s clever. After all, everyone is horrible to him.”

“Except for the whore,” Bofur added mischievously as if he thought this comical, but received an unimpressed look from his younger brother.

“Even with Shae, Tyrion has everyone and everything against him but still he struggle on, for the good of the realm. I think he’s the one who should occupy the Iron Throne, not his family though.”

Bofur nodded as he contemplated this. “As King Robert, bless his soul, put it: ‘ _It is a monstrous uncomfortable chair. In more ways than one_ ’. But maybe it will be Tyrion who is the best _man_ for the throne, as an ironic gesture to all the rest of the men quarrelling and fighting in the realm. That a dwarf is twice the man anyone else is. Aye, that would be an excellent pun in the ending of the book if I had written it.”

Bombur stepped closer to his brother and flattened his hat with a swat of his hand and Bofur cried out in protest.

“But you haven’t written it, so we all have to wait for Bilbo to come up with a way to free us so we can know what happens next.”

That comment made Bilbo rush into action and hurry onward, feeling very guilty for the five pages he had read alone at some dull moments in the elven king’s halls as the imprisoned dwarves remained in the dark. But he hadn’t been able to resist reading, just like it was becoming harder to resist putting the ring on his finger and disappear from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the final one. Don't miss the dwarves' reactions to the Red wedding! Be there, read it, and cry. So long for now!


	5. A Storm of Swords, and the Gathering of the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves are busy and Bilbo worries.

It was in Laketown that Bilbo found himself afflicted with the worst cold of his life. Dripping nose, clogged and stinging throat, aching limbs…

Naturally the dwarves left him all alone in a rented room at an inn while they were being welcomed and celebrated by the whole town. Though, they did look after him, visit him, and brought small presents for his genius escape plan that freed them all from Thranduil’s dungeons.

It was just that Bilbo was a little caught up in his misery in the large bed and he really knew that the Company cared about his well-being but sadly was obligated to attend the welcoming ceremonies arranged by the Master of Laketown.

When three days had passed, just as the sun set below the horizon, a bunch of familiar dwarves tumbled through Bilbo’s door and startled the hobbit out of his dozing state. From the heap of entangled beards, new tunics, and leather boots, a particularly tall dwarf emerged and glared over his shoulder at his fallen kin before snorting and smoothing down his dark locks and braids.

“Master Baggins, we have a collective message to you, if you’re not too tired,” Thorin announced formally before Bofur struggled to his feet, nudged his hat up over his forehead, and promptly shoved the King aside with a pointed finger in his sensitive side.

“Bilbo, splendid; you’re awake! Now, we all wonder where that special book of yours is. As entertaining as a city of Men is, nothing beats the fantastic world of Westeros. We have all waited for the next part since we were tangled in spider web, imprisoned by elves, and sailing down a river in barrels.”

“I can barely swallow a second breakfast with this throat, and yet you demand of me, after everything I did for you, to read to you?” Bilbo sputtered in protest and felt tears welling up in his red eyes.

Bofur’s smirk fell and he all but entered a contest with Thorin on who could reach him first. Thorin won, given he had longer legs to take him across the room. The King seated himself carefully on the bed and Bilbo felt how the matress dipped considerably under the weight of the solid dwarf and his armour.

“We would ask no such thing of you when you’re in this state, Master Baggins. What Bofur implied but failed to clarify, was that our intention was to find your book and then have one of us reading instead of you. Of course we could all gather here in your spacious room and it would be like the reading sessions around the camp-fire again.”

A royal, warm smile met Bilbo’s gaze and the hobbit sniffed and fumbled with his hands above the blanket. “Oh, I see. That could be arranged, I guess. The book is in my bag by the door.”

Nori and Kili began to bicker about who would retrieve the book but was interrupted by Gloin who simply guided both of them apart with his large frame and strength before he lifted the flap on the bag and grabbed the book.

Bilbo peered shyly at the King who still sat on his bed with a strange intensity in his eyes as he looked at Bilbo.

“Who will read? Will it be you, Your Majesty?” Bilbo found himself asking and was met with kind laughter from Bofur who plopped down on the end of the bed and lit up his pipe as he made himself comfortable.

“Oin can’t hear Thorin’s low voice, and we would all be sleeping in flash if that was the case. Not that there’s anything wrong with all of us _sleeping_ , as such, right Thorin?”

The King seemed thrown off-track and trapped between irritation at the toy-maker’s courage to simply jump onto Bilbo’s bed, and embarrassment by the implication, especially when it was spoken in front of a delicate, brave, and ill hobbit. “We decided that Balin will read tonight. He has a good voice, even if it won’t be the same without Bilbo’s voice. So I suggest we all take a seat and get to it. Bofur, you don’t disturb Bilbo if he’s falling asleep, or I will remove you from the bed by your moustaches.”

“Yes, yes, but start reading now,” Bofur said impatiently and waved his ahnds as he gestured to all the Company to sit down already.

Bilbo felt a rose blooming under his aching chest at the joyous toy-maker who patted his feet through the blanket. When Thorin a moment later fixed that intense look on him again, Bilbo felt like heated milk filled his belly and made him content.

 ***

Late that night, when Balin’s voice quietened at a relatively calm part of the book, Fili yawned before he voiced an observation. “All this mentioning of John Snow trodding through the snow North of the Wall and avoiding White Walkers and intercourse made me think of something.”

“Still not ruling out that you and Ned Stark’s bastard might have something in common?” Bofur commented flippantly as he reclined against the frame of Bilbo’s bed and received harsh curses from every royalist in the group.

The blond heir simply clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “No, that’s not it. But by now we know that children born out of marriage in Westeros are called special names, even if they’re reckognized by their fathers and named heirs to their houses, like in the case of Ramsay Snow, Bastard of Bolton. And there’s Rivers, Flowers, and Sand in the southern parts of the Seven Kingdoms. Now, I hope we are enough of good friends from my query. If the same rule was applied to our world, what would Dori, Nori, and Ori be called? Their parents were unwed and they don’t introduce themselves like Thorin does as ‘Thorin, son of Thrain’.”

It was clear that the prince had thought long and hard over this and every dwarf pondered his words. Thankfully, the three brothers in question didn’t seem offended, but rather intrigued.

“Well, the bastards of Westeros are named after natural things in their specific region. Snow in the north, Flowers in the south, and so on. The trick is to decide which region Dori, Nori, and Ori belong to, since they were born and raised in the Blue Mountains, but technically without a home since their mother was a refugee from Erebor,” Balin stated while rubbing his glove over his chin.

Thorin turned to his advisor and growled, “We are not _technically homeless_! Just forced to wandering the wilderness because of a bedamned dragon occupying our mountain! We will soon reclaim Erebor and get our kingdom back! Erebor has always been and will always be, after the ordeal of getting the dragon out, our one home!”

Balin sighed at his angered king who always was too quick to judge and misinterpret statements. Dwalin tried to appease the upset Thorin on the chair beside his.

“So, Erebor is our region. What’s to be found there to name dwarves without married parents, but who are loved nevertheless by all of us?”

From his seat on the floor, Ori shot Dwalin an admiring glance for making the air in the room less tense, and for cleverly concealing an intimate declaration of fondness. Meanwhile, Dori suspiciously witnessed what passed between his little brother and the warrior dwarf but was unable to interpret a deeper meaning to Dwalin’s polite words.

“Well, let’s hear the propositions, then!” Dori's outburst caused Thorin to reel on the chair, Bilbo to stare wide-eyed, Bofur to fall off the bed, Ori to flush bright red, and Dwalin to begin to cough.

The rest of the Company chuckled at the scene between the infatuated, except for Bifur who still kept his hands pressed to his ears to block out all sounds after hearing of the dreadful mutiny of the Night’s Watch in Craster’s keep, the following bloodbath, and how Sam, and Gilly barely escaped with a newborn babe.

Dori huffed and rolled his eyes at the antics in the crammed room. “The proposals, then. What name would my brother and I go by?”

Bombur tapped a thick finger against his nose knowingly. “I’m not sure we heard anything you said after _proposals_ , Master Dori. It takes a married dwarf to know the stages between love-birds, and I’ve seen some interesting events during this journey. But I shan’t say anything and risk becoming an obstacle to true love.”

“You mean you’re not as great an obstacle to love as the Wall to the Wildlings?“ Oin suggested but Bombur shrugged indifferently before digging in a pocket on his big trousers to find a bun.

 After the dwarves had had their laugh at Dori’s expense, it was Kili who piped up with a bright face, “What about Stone?”

He ducked his head down shyly when the adult dwarves turned their heads towards him, but added, “We are dwarves, so stone matter a lot to us, since we live below it, whether in mountains or hills. And even without our race in the calculation, we live in Erebor, which is a region full of stones. So, shouldn’t bastards from Erebor be called Stone?”

Fili wounded an arm around his brother’s shoulders and grinned proudly at his smart brother. Everyone began to nod and mumble in agreement to the sound reasoning, until Nori let out with a whine, “I don’t want to be named after something so boring, colourless, and common as stones! I want to be called something special, and definitely not share name with Dori. What about other things in our habitat? Copper for Ori, because of his red hair, Silver for Dori, in that case, and Gold for me because of the lovely gleam in my eyes, as all the ladies say?”

His suggestion was contested by Dori who looked mortified and kept aiming scared glances at a perfectly calm Thorin. “Nori! My goodness, why would you ever be named after something more valuable than me when you are the second brother in the litter? And to be called Gold, no matter how much of it is hidden in Erebor’s mines, sounds far too royal for a simple commoner like you!”

Nori proceeded to fold his arms around himself, sulk, and throw dirty glares at his elder brother who ignored him in favour of adjusting the clips that kept his silvery hair in the intricate arrangement he enjoyed.

While Nori and Dori were busy, Dwalin saw his chance and leaned down from his chair and whispered to Ori, “Personally, I think Copper suits you, because your hair really is as beautiful as the metal.” Ori self-consciously raised a hand to twirl a strand around a finger and smiled at the warrior.

***

Amongst the depressing ruins of Dale, the Company grew quieter and graver. It became clear to them then and there how close they were to their goal, but also how much of a threat a dragon posed to thirteen dwarves and a hobbit if he was able to burn down a whole city of Men.

As the Company said farewell to Bard who had taken them across the water and now intended to returnto Laketown in his boat, the dwarves hefted their belongings onto their shoulders and began trudging through the narrow alleys where ash lay strewn on the ground and painted their boots grey.

That first night at the foot of the enormous mountain, within spooky destructions, the dwarves dared not light a fire, and more than one thought of the equally dragon-ravaged city of Harrenhal in Bilbo’s book. Bilbo read with a hushed voice and felt shivers runing down his back at the impending break-in into Erebor, and the restless way his companions turned their heads even when no noise sounded ouside their circle.

“ _But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear,_ ” Gloin hummed before getting an elbow in his side.

“Keep quiet and don’t terrorize the Halfling! I want to hear him now,” Oin remarked acidly and aimed his recently purchased trumpet towards the nervous hobbit.

“Right, erm, let’s chase away ghosts of the past, shall we?” Bilbo stuttered and continued to read about Theon’s return to torture, the treatment the Unsullied received from their master, and Stannis’ wife Selyse who stocked up on preserved miscarriages.

Needless to say, the dwarves was even more horrified by the evil in the world in the book and weren’t even close to drowsy. Dwalin whispered to Thorin who growled something and Balin nodded in agreement. Bilbo tilted his head in query as he fell silent.

“Oi! I want to hear the rest of the chapter, so stop interrupting!” Fili complained to his relatives who looked up and noticed the silence.

Balin let out a cheerless chuckle. “Alright, laddie, I see your impatience. However, we have come to the conclusion that we shouldn’t hear of more atrocities tonight, lest our sleep is ruined. The chapter doesn’t seem to improve in that aspect, and we need to be alert now.”

Fili scoffed and sourly laid down flat on his bedroll, acknowledging defeat when he saw one. Other people however argued with the decision-makers.

“Why stop now? It’s so exciting,” Bofur protested and Bilbo added while he kept a finger on the page he had been reading, “We’ve all endured hearing of more horrible events in the book, so why should you wish to stop now?”

Thorin blinked and huffed while wrapping his furred coat tighter around himself. “Because I’ve had it with implications that the South is of elven Race and the North of dwarven, and how the South is the foulest, most disgusting place imaginable which is always buggering the North like flies disturbing a pony!”

Balin waved the King into muteness and explained with a more diplomatic tone, “Bilbo, we have begun to see the author for what he really is. He is constantly favouring the southern characters, while making the North suffer through disaster after disaster. We are not amused by it, and it doesn’t feel encouraging when we are about to meet a dragon of our own.”

Bilbo frowned. “But…”

Balin smoothed a hand over his white beard and cut him off.

“No buts, little one. We find the book filled with racists in the South. You see, we sympathize with the North where the population is like dwarves are: tough, loyal, and struggling for a greater good. But the South reminds us of the blasted elves; every smooth-skinned, lazy person is in the end a deceiver and a coward. Thorin is of the opinion that it’s a great injustice that the just and honorable die first in this book and leave those who are most undeserving with the greatest power.”

“Thorin is right to think so,” Dwalin grumbled and sided completely with his king in this matter.

Bilbo sighed and closed the book. “Fine! Goodnight, then,” he retorted and curled up around the book, testy that he was denied more of the story.

***

One day when the the Company was slowly climbing the height of the mountain and searching for the hidden door the map had showed, Thorin decided to give his followers an uplifting treat during the lunch break. He voiced a thought he had had for some time.

“Friends, don’t you think there’s a certain dwarf amongst us who resembles a special wilding girl?”

Everyone immediately began to grin and throw not very subtle glances at Nori.

“We all think he looks like Ygritte,” Bombur nodded and Bilbo stuffed a hand in his mouth to keep himself from laughing loudly so the sound would echo against the stone wall. Nori raised his head from his smoking tomatoes and scowled.

“I do _not_ look like a lass!”

Ori bounced excitedly beside him. “Yes, you do, come to think of it! Ygritte is described as short for her age, skinny and well-muscled at the same time, carrying a round face, small but agile hands, a broad nose, and crooked teeth. And, of course, he mane of fiery red hair is just like yours.”

Nori sourly stated that he considered Jaqen H’Ghar more similar to his own person. Dori clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You’re not that clever or roguish, brother dear.“

Meanwhile, Dwalin shook from mirth and pointed at the cornered dwarf he had hunted for years, “Maybe you’re more like the lovely Red Lady Melisandre?”

Nori reeled back and grimaced. “That freakish harlot? I’m not that crazy, you know.” Dori pointed out while sniggering at his younger brother, “With _that_ amount of pure red hair in the shade like the Red Witch? No, you were clearly kissed by fire, and lucky from it if the superstition from the book is true.”

Dwalin sobered up and squinted at Nori before muttering grimly, “Aye, lucky like a convicted dwarf escaping his penalty over and over.”

Appeased by the sudden compliment, Nori smirked at the previous town guard and replied condescendingly, “You know nothing, Dwalin, son of Fundin.”

***

Smaug was slayed. Thorin had come into his own and been informally crowned King Under the Mountain. But that wasn’t the end of the adventure.

Thorin changed and grew suspicious of the activities in the half-destroyed Laketown below in the distance. The dwarf king commanded the Company to build a wall as fast as they could in the great gap where the gates had been before Smaug made Erebor his lair.

Bilbo chose to sneak away from the hard labour and take in the great kingdom built out of rock. But he also put his ring on his finger and disappeared from view to spy on Thorin who wandered the halls of his childhood and anxiously whispered in his beard about finding the Arkenstone.

The dwarf Bilbo had first found intimidating in his hobbit hole, then appreciating and worrying on the long journey, and finally fond and gentle in Laketown when Bilbo nursed his cold, now seemed nearly sickly pale and manic in his obsession with this stone and the supposed threat against Erebor.

Nevertheless, one night weeks later, the Company managed to bring Thorin to join them on the floor in the middle of the hall of Erebor before the constructed wall. The dwarves felt oddly on edge despite being home after so many years in unwanted exile, and they gathered around a small fire and sensed some sort of ending coming.

Thorin sat down heavily beside Dwalin and Bilbo, but remained restless; his head always turning either to the great opening where the night could be seen through the cracks of the wall, and in the direction of the treasury.

He was eager to find the Arkenstone, to rebuild a defensive line, but also to hear the last of the story and see to his subjects and the Halfling who had been close to his heart not long ago, but now aroused his suspicions. One part of his mind warned that Bilbo would betray him, but another enounciated that the hobbit ahd been nothing but helpful and loyal throughout the journey.

Thorin was brought from his dark thoughts when Bilbo read how Davos Seaworth found a letter from the Night's Watch where the guard asked for aid against Mance Rayder and The Others, much like Thorin had sent a raven to the Iron Hills to beg his cousin Dain to come with reinforcements and defend Erebor in case of an attack.

When Davos was accused by an enraged Stannis of treason for helping Robert’s bastard son escape his prison, thus making an heir a serious threat on Stannis’ claim to the Iron Throne, every dwarf seemed to draw a deep breath and hold it while glancing furtively at their King. Just as Stannis threatened to execute Davos for his deed, he was spared only by showing the Baratheon man the message form the Night’s Watch.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief, especially Fili and Kili who suddenly crawled over to either side of their uncle and threw two arms around him. “Oh, uncle, we’re so relieved that Davos managed to get Stannis to accept that his nephew by blood was set free,” Kili mumbled into Thorin’s coat  and Thorin cleared his throat out of emotion and promised them both firmly that he would never endanger their lives or threaten them like Stannis had done to his nephew.

Thorin stroked their raven and golden heads and said, “You are my nephews and heirs, and you mean the world to me.” Dori might have raised a handkerchief to his eye to dry a stary tear at the moving scene of the three Durins together.

Dawn was approaching. The dwarves stayed by the ember of the fire, dressed in finest armour after hearing from Roäc the raven in the middle of the sleepless night that armies of greedy elves and men were marching on the mountain to demand their share of the treasure; claiming a large compensation for everything they had been through since King Thror began hoarding gold and tempted a dragon to their region. It felt important in this moment to hear the chapter to the end.

Bilbo felt tension build in his little body and he rubbed his feet together anxiously as an ominous feeling filled him even when the King in the North and his party were celebrating the strategic wedding between Edmure Tully and one of Frey’s offspring. He read faster, aided by the raising sun.

_“The players in the gallery had finally gotten both king and queen down to their name-day suits. With scarcely a moment’s respite, they began to play a very different sort of song. No one sang the words, but Catelyn knew ‘‘The Rains of Castamere’’ when she heard it.”_

_“‘Mercy!’’ Catelyn cried, but horns and drums and the clash of steel smothered her plea. Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in Dacey’s stomach.”_

_“‘Heh,’’ Lord Walder cackled at Robb, ‘‘the King in the North arises. Seems we killed some of your men, Your Grace. Oh, but I’ll make you an apology, that will mend them all again, heh.” Catelyn grabbed a handful of Jinglebell Frey’s long grey hair and dragged him out of his hiding place. ‘‘Lord Walder!’’ she shouted. ‘‘LORD WALDER!’’ The drum beat slow and sonorous, doom boom doom. ‘‘Enough,’’ said Catelyn. ‘‘Enough, I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal, let it end.’’_

_“A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. ‘‘Jaime Lannister sends his regards.’’ He thrust his longsword through her son’s heart, and twisted.”_

_“It hurts so much, she thought. Our children, Ned, all our sweet babes. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa, Robb . . . Robb . . . please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting . . . The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved.”_

_‘‘[…] a hand grabbed her scalp just as she’d done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don’t, don’t cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold.”_

Bilbo fell silent as the end of the chapter rang out from his mouth and it was possible to hear the wind whoosh through the gaps between the stones in the erected wall to the outside.

Bilbo was too shocked to begin to cry, numbed unlike his upset state at Ned Stark’s beheading such a long time ago when hope was still present and he had believed that the story couldn’t get much worse. Except he had never been so wrong in his whole life.

He turned his head and spotted Bofur who stared back at him and silently mouthed through the haze, “Bilbo, I’m so sorry. I… I promised it would be alright, that the story would get better. I’m sorry…”

The toymaker was interrupted by a husky moan from Gloin who huffed out all his frustration with a single, defeated, “Mahal’s balls.”

Oin was in denial and polishing his ear trumpet frantically while growling, “What happened? I’m sure I heard wrong. What happened to Catelyn and Robb and their campaign?”

Bilbo began to tremble and watched how Bifur’s head fell back as the damaged dwarf let out a desolate scream that echoed eerily through the hole, speaking of grave injury and deep grief.

Thorin flew up with rattling armour and drew his sword while brutally hauling up a teary-eyed Fili by the scruff and the King’s face contorted into a mask of fury.

“Still favouring fucking Jaime Lannister?” Thorin roared nastily in his oldest nephew’s face but Fili was just as stubborn when he yelled back, “He had nothing to do with this! Jaime is the only decent person in that family!”

Thorin turned white in the face and let go of Fili who fell to his knees and clutched his arms around an openly weeping Kili who dribbled snot over his shining chestplate. “Fili, I don’t want this story. I h…ha…hate Joffrey Lannister a…and his grandfather,”  the young dwarf cried.

Nori shouted while he wrestled a broken-hearted Ori into his fierce embrace, “The whole South will pay for this! Elvish waste, all of them!” Meanwhile in the chaos, Balin was awkwardly patting his warrior brother’s back while Dwalin sobbed ugily and exclaimed with his hands thrown out in uncertainty, “The tears! I cannot contain them!”

Thorin backed away from his mourning subjects and felt veils of greed lift from his mind but shades of despair descend in their place. He paled at the sudden realization that half of the remaining members of his favorite House Stark were assassinated before a cruel Lord Frey, and yes, he had begun to count Talisa and her unborn child as Starks.

All that remained were separated and vulnerable children scattered over Westeros, much like orphaned dwarflings he had been forced to protect when they fled from Erebor so many years ago because Thranduil refused to engage his forces and help.

Bombur pulled himself up to his feet and lifted a mighty horn and blew it to announce that the dwarves of Erebor were going into the fray now.

Dori began to swing his heavy flail as he barked with authority, “Let’s go out and slaughter everyone!”

And so, the dwarves gathered close and began marching towards the sealed exit to open it and greet sunlight and battle, united by their mutual but silent vow to seek vengeance on behalf of Robb, Catelyn, Talisa, and all the other Northerners who fell at the Red Wedding.

Bilbo was forgotten behind them once again, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, because there were but a few pages left in the book and Bilbo couldn’t comprehend how anything could be alright or reversed in such a small time. He closed the book and threw it down on the stone floor, hating and loving the book beyond what his gentle hobbit heart was able to feel, and it destroyed him.

He was just about to disheartedly follow the dwarves, when something gleamed in the corner of his eyes. Something brilliant obscured by a pillar but peeking out and catching the sunrays. The Arkenstone. Which could possibly be traded for peace. Bilbo knew what to do.

***

Bilbo sat on a too large chair that had been pulled up to the bed Thorin occupied and his bruised and scarred but clean hand swept the fringe from the King’s forehead before returning to thumbing his way to the correct chapter in the tome on his lap.

Gloin was tying the string of rope that went through loops on the flaps to the tent and securing their privacy against eager servants and concerned elven healers.

Bofur carved on a piece of wood he had found Aulë knows where in the wasteland that had been the battlefield on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain and it was obvious he made the wood look like a certain majestic figure, though adorned with a goofy smile.

Ori was gently instructing Dwalin how to keep his coarse hands around the yarn while simultaneously holding the two needles while the warrior dwarf fumbled on purpose and made the scribe grasp his hands over and over.

Balin was patting his own full belly contentedly and smiled even as Bombur still muched around the chicken leg and burped.

Dori was warming himself with a cup of calming tea and rested his feet on a footstool.

Bilbo said gleefully to Bifur, “Great idea, Bifur! To gather together again and read the final part of the book somewhere where no-one will disturb us.”

The axe-headed dwarf muttered and signed and Oin translated with a sad expression, “If only Fili and Kili were here.”

He had barely said the words before irritated shouts were heard on the other side of the tent fabric.

“Master Dwarves! I hope you waited for the princes of Erebor to arrive before you started with the reading!” Kili proceeded to duck down and crawl through the entrance at the bottom of the open flaps where Gloin hadn’t reached yet, and the bandaged and limping prince was followed by a slower Fili who took care to not use his broken arm, but still was capable of a deafening glare on all of them.

“I told you to wait! We only wanted to grab some snacks!”

Thorin chuckled from under the blankets that covered his battered but healing body. “Be at ease, Fili and Kili. We haven’t started, although we would have soon since you decided to venture all over to the elven side of the camp for your snacks.”

“They do have the most deliscious pastries, uncle” Kili informed him easily before seating himself so Fili could braid his hair into a more royal look.

Bilbo cleared his throat to bring silence over the lot. “Settle down now, please. We only have so much time before Thorin’s medicine kicks in and he’s napping again.” His teasing comment made the King growl playfully, although he permitted the Company to laugh at his expense as long as they kept being happy. He was stil feeling guilty for his dragon sickness and the near disaster he had brought upon his folowers and his dear nephews.

Bilbo began to read and quickly covered how Bran Stark was braving through a tunnel to North of the Wall with the Reed siblings, how Jon was shot by an arrow from Ygritte and might be dying, and how Daenerys was loved as a liberator in the East even though she had dragons.

Then, Bilbo took a break for some water in a cup and remained silent and pondering before Thorin’s patience waned. It was all so intriguing and Thorin more than anyone anticipated the ending of the epic story that surpassed his own by far with royal intrigues, backstabbings, warfare, and magic creatures.

Thorin murmured weakly, “Read on, please, Bilbo.” For some reason, the hobbit began to squirm and worry his adorable lip. “Uhm, Your Majesty, the book has ended.”

 A prominent crease appeared between Thorin’s brows. “What?” he asked simply.

Bilbo swallowed nervously and twined his furry feet around each other. “There’s no more. That was the last page I just read. The author hasn’t released the sequel yet, so we’re at road’s end, so to speak.”

The other dwarves looked bewildered. “But Galdor R R Mardil could be anywhere by now, right, Bilbo? Why wouldn’t he always announce where he is, so his readers know and can contact him to purchase the next book?”

“Uhm , maybe he prefers to be left alone and write his book in peace and in his own pace?” Bilbo suggested and was met by scoffs and tsks.

“This will be our next adventure, to find and get our own copy of the next book as soon as possible,” Thorin declared majestically to calm everyone before coughing pitifully in his beard and Bilbo dropped his face in his hands when the other dwarves began to cheer, and the hobbit feared he was being dragged again into a mad journey which might endanger the elusive GRRM’s wellbeing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Finally done, with a slightly more dramatic than cracky story, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Especially since I mostly managed to cover all the bonuses the OP wanted. As you may have noticed, I've used a lot from the series rather than the books, so remember that the dwarves and Bilbo only read up until this point in the world of Westeros, which is also where A Storm of Swords almost, so no comments on spoilers that will appear later on in the series, please! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I will only reveal what has already happened in the GoT show, or what happened in that fandom's history (eg. the building of the Wall thousands of years ago). I am a non-spoiler! Research facts: Rennar is a name in the game The Hobbit on PS2, George RR Martin's name is created from true characters in Tolkien's world. Now, hold onto a teddy/sword/dire wolf, because Bilbo's 'harmless' bedtime stories are about to take off! I welcome comments.


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